


A Merry Little Christmas

by Izzyaro (Isilarma)



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Waverly Is A Good Boss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5508449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilarma/pseuds/Izzyaro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just once Napoleon would like to not be called in for an emergency mission over Christmas. And he was just starting to like working for U.N.C.L.E.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Merry Little Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

"I can't believe this."

Gaby raised an eyebrow and settled herself more comfortably into her seat. "Why not? It's not like we've ever had regular hours."

Napoleon scowled then ignored her in favour of turning to Illya. "Even you have to be with me on with this one."

The big Russian didn't so much as blink in his direction. "You knew this could happen when you took the job."

Napoleon folded his arms and glared down at his partners. "Are you really telling me that I'm the only one annoyed about being sent on a mission right before Christmas?"

Gaby looked away, but not before Napoleon caught a number of different emotions flicker across her face. She hadn't yet learned to be as guarded in the presence of friends as she was with enemies. For some reason neither Napoleon nor Illya had tried too hard to correct her. Illya, meanwhile, just shrugged.

"Did you have plans?"

Napoleon just about kept himself from twitching. "None set in stone, but that's not the point."

Illya shot him a look, and Napoleon had to fight to maintain his relaxed demeanour. Illya of all people wouldn't comment on his sad lack of anything remotely resembling a personal life, but it was the principle of the thing. No one should ever know more than they had to. From the way Illya's eyes narrowed though, Napoleon wasn't fooling anyone. Even Gaby was looking at him rather dubiously. Napoleon scowled and slouched into the chair next to them.

"I'm just saying it would have been nice to get a little bit of a break."

That got more of a reaction. Gaby grimaced, and Illya even jerked his head in acknowledgement. U.N.C.L.E. was the best employer any of them had ever had, and Waverly a far far better handler, but the life of a spy wasn't exactly an easy one. They had completed three missions in the last four weeks, and even Illya was starting to look a little drained.

Which was why Napoleon had been more than a little irritated to be summoned to Waverly's office two days before Christmas. He might not have had any plans, but it was Christmas. Surely even international criminal organisations took holidays sometimes.

To add insult to injury Waverly was running late. Rose, his secretary, had informed them that he had received an urgent telephone call from the French Secret Service and couldn't be interrupted. As excuses went it wasn't a bad one, considering Waverly generally regarded tardiness as the eighth deadly sin, so the three of them had settled down to wait with a minimum of grumbling.

Still, Napoleon was not in the best of moods when the door finally opened and Waverly poked his head put.

"Ah, come in, you three. Rose, if they call back you know what to do."

"Yes, sir," said Rose with a smirk. Napoleon shot her an intrigued look, but quickly refocused his attention as he led the way into the office. Waverly shut the door behind them and moved round to the other side of the desk.

"So sorry about that chaps. Couldn't be helped, I'm afraid."

Despite his best efforts Napoleon found his irritation fading. Waverly's short sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, and his hair was rumpled as if he'd repeatedly run his hands through it. Napoleon caught the dark shadows under his eyes and sighed. Waverly might push them hard, but he never asked more of them than he did of himself and it was hard to dislike him for that.

"Trouble in France, sir?" he asked, as he took a seat. Gaby sat next to him, and Illya took his customary place on her other side. Waverly grimaced.

"There is always trouble in France, Mr. Solo," he replied. "It's part of their national identity."

Gaby frowned. "Is there anything we can do, sir?" she asked. Napoleon glared at her, but Waverly shook his head.

"Er, no, not this time. Thank you for the offer, my dear, but it is under control. Besides, I've got something else in mind for you."

"Here we go," Napoleon muttered, but he fell silent when Waverly shot him a look. Unlike some previous handlers he was maybe slightly bothered by what Waverly thought of him. Waverly gave him a faint nod of acknowledgement and picked up three envelopes. Napoleon eyed them with some surprise. Waverly was a great believer in detailed planning, and his mission briefings were normally as thick as all three packets combined. Next to him Gaby's frown had deepened, and Illya was eyeing the envelopes like they might bite him. Waverly glanced at them, and a faint grin touched his lips as he handed the files out.

"You're going to Switzerland," he announced cheerfully. "More specifically the Alps. Pack warmly."

Napoleon blinked. Call him pessimistic, but Christmas in the Alps wasn't exactly what he had been expecting.

"You're sending us to the Alps," Gaby repeated, and Napoleon felt a swell of pride at the wariness in her voice. Illya's eyes narrowed, and he started to tear into his mission briefing. Waverly just sat back in his chair, his hands folded across his stomach and his grin growing steadily more smug.

"Yes, Miss Teller, the Alps. You will be spending the week looking after a Mr. Lionel Frey."

That was more like it. "And what does he do?" Napoleon asked.

"Well, he used to help smuggle refugees into Switzerland," said Waverly. "However, he currently runs a rather wonderful skiing retreat."

Naploeon blinked again. "A skiing retreat. Has he done anything else since the war?"

Waverly just smiled. Napoleon stared at him, then at his teammates. Illya was scanning the briefing packet, his eyes wide, but Gaby's attention was completely on their superior. "So why does this Mr. Frey need protection now, Sir?"

"Well, it has been a rather eventful year," Waverly pointed out. "Who knows who THRUSH might try to target next?"

Illya looked up, his eyes narrowing. "Maybe someone more important than a humanitarian who has had no involvement in international affairs for decades?"

"Probably," said Waverly equably. "But that's no reason to ignore those who made more minor contributions, Mr. Kuryakin."

Napoleon couldn't keep the frown from his face any longer. "Sir, who exactly knew about Mr. Frey's wartime activities?"

"Well, I did."

Napoleon waited, but no more names were forthcoming. "So no one else knew. No one at all."

Waverly gave an elegant shrug. "You can never be too careful with these things."

Napoleon pinched the bridge of his nose and forced himself to speak evenly. "And I suppose this little getaway is reasonably secure?"

Waverly's expression was as bland as Napoleon had ever seen. "But of course. We do try to treat all our most valuable assets with the respect they deserve, after all."

It took all Napoleon's self-control to keep from gaping. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't a mission, it couldn't be. Yes, that was it; this was the part where Waverly told them it was all a joke and sent them into the jungle for months. Illya looked like he was having similar thoughts; he was gripping his envelope hard enough that his knuckles had turned white and his face was completely blank. Gaby glanced between the two of them in concern, but Waverly just sighed, his previous good cheer fading rather abruptly.

"Your tickets are in with your briefings," he said quietly.

Well that made things simpler. Napoleon tore open his envelope and pulled out the thin sheaf of papers. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction if seeing him react when the ticket failed to appear. He wouldn't...

Oh.

Napoleon stared at the plane ticket in his hand, then at the ones Gaby and Illya were holding, then back at his own, and then finally at Waverly. His superior's eyes were bright with anger, but somehow Napoleon didn't feel like it was directed at him. He swallowed, and tried to get his mouth to work.

"So. The Alps."

Waverly gave him a small smile. "They're quite lovely this time of year."

Napoleon opened his mouth then closed it again. For once in his life he had no idea what to say. Neither Gaby nor Illya were much help; Illya was still gaping at his ticket, and Gaby was watching the both of them warily. Napoleon looked down, mind working furiously. Waverly wouldn't send them into a dangerous situation without warning them, he wasn't that sort of man. That meant their mission really was to keep an eye on a minimal risk target who owned a skiing retreat for week.

Which didn't make much sense at all.

Napoleon snapped back to attention when Waverly sighed again and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk. "I assure you, this is exactly what it looks like. If you did have plans, then by all means attend to them; you will be classed as unavailable for the next week regardless. I'm sure your respective organisations will have more important things to do than checking up on you. Otherwise the plane leaves in three hours."

He picked up his pen and pulled a file in front of him in a clear gesture of dismissal, but Napoleon didn't move. His stomach was starting to twist with something that felt remarkably like unease. He should have learned by now that he wasn't dealing with Saunders any more. It couldn't have been easy for Waverly to arrange this particular mission. Napoleon suppressed a groan, and gave in to the urge to rub at his eyes. This was one of the few situations for which he had no preparations whatsoever.

"I have never been to the Alps."

Napoleon's jaw dropped for a minute before he recovered himself. He couldn't feel too embarrassed by his reaction though; Waverly's head had snapped up and he was staring at Illya with wide eyes. The Russian shifted slightly under the scrutiny, but he didn't look away. "I have heard it is nice."

Hope flickered in Napoleon's chest. A slow smile spread across Gaby's face. "My father took me before the war," she said. "You'll like it there."

Napoleon nodded. "It'll make a nice change of scene." He glanced round in time to see a rare, completely genuine smile spread across Waverly's face, and couldn't help grinning back. "We will of course fulfil our duties to the best of our abilities."  
Waverly nodded to him, pulling his expression into its professional set as he did. "I expected nothing less, Mr. Solo." He glanced at his watch. "Now, I have paperwork, and I believe you have some packing to do."

This time all three of them did get to their feet. Napoleon made no move to leave though, instead reaching out to shake his superior's hand. "Have a good Christmas, sir."

He did his best to put all his sincerity and gratitude into the words, and was relieved to see Waverly's eyes soften. "And to you, Mr. Solo."

Gaby and Illya echoed the sentiment, Gaby even going so far as to dart round the desk to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. Waverly shook his head in fond exasperation at her, before shooing the three of them towards the door. "All right, off you go now, chaps. Some of us still have work to do, after all."

Napoleon smiled and led his team from the room in far better spirits than he had entered it. Christmas wasn't looking so bad after all.


End file.
